


Open up the door

by tictactoews



Series: Open up the door [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Homeless, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4282206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tictactoews/pseuds/tictactoews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Grantaire can deal with an angry Enjolras, frustrated Enjolras, and even righteously furious Enjolras. But give him a sad, defeated Enjolras and he's at a loss.</i><br/> </p><p>Enjolras pisses his parents off one too many times and finds himself kicked out of his family home. Unfortunately, almost all his friends have gone back home for summer holidays. Fortunately, Grantaire hasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open up the door

**Author's Note:**

> This story is extremely self-indulgent, but it's as good a way as any to enter a new fandom, so - hello!

The doorbell rings just when Grantaire is taking his lasagna out of the oven. He startles, then hisses and curses as he burns his finger on the hot dish. Sucking it into his mouth, he dashes to open the door, determined to be as unpleasant as he can to the person standing outside of it.

His anger deflates when he sees Enjolras there, curls flat and wet from the thunderstorm going on outside, clothes rumpled, and shadows under his eyes that could give Grantaire's usual hungover look a run for its money.

"Don't throw me out" is the first thing Enjolras says, and fuck if it doesn't make Grantaire feel like the worst kind of asshole on Earth. Granted, the last time they saw each other they got into a huge argument, but that was the last ABC meeting of the semester and Grantaire figured that it was better to get their fill before the summer break. Still, he'd like to think even Enjolras considered him to be a better human, and not someone capable of kicking out a friend - of sorts - who was clearly miserable to begin with.

He keeps these thoughts to himself, though, and just raises an eyebrow, stepping aside to let Enjolras in. "What can I help you with?" he asks.

"I need a place to crash for one night. Please? I have nowhere else to go," Enjolras says, and fuck, he sounds desperate and on the edge of tears.

Grantaire frowns, and looks pointedly at the duffel bag at Enjolras' feet, so full it was just about ready to burst at the seams. "That looks like more than just one night," he points out.

"No, I promise, I'll be out of your hair tomorrow, just-- please?"

Grantaire can deal with an angry Enjolras, frustrated Enjolras, and even righteously furious Enjolras. But give him a sad, defeated Enjolras and he's at a loss.

"Hungry?" he asks, hoping that picking up Enjolras' bag - fuck, it's heavy - and depositing it right next to his couch is enough of a 'yes' that it's understood. If the relieved sigh Enjolras lets out is anything to go by, he's right.

"Yeah, actually," Enjolras says. "Thank you, R, seriously--"

"Not a problem," Grantaire interrupts him. "You'll have to sleep on the couch, though, my spare room doesn't have any bed in it. Or furniture, for that matter."

Grantaire's apartment is tiny, two small rooms, a bathroom, and an unreasonably large kitchen that due to its size doubles as a living room, with a couch and a TV on one side of it. One of the rooms is Grantaire's bedroom, and the other he uses as an art studio - which allows him to contain the mess he inevitably makes, and to have people over without doing a thorough remodeling. Not that it matters in the summer, when their classes are over and everyone has gone home for the holidays. Everyone except, apparently, Enjolras.

Enjolras, who is now standing uncertainly in his kitchen-slash-living area, looking lost and exhausted, and making Grantaire feel like an ass. It seems to be one of Enjolras' superpowers any day.

He visibly perks up when Grantaire waves him over to the table and sets a plate full of steaming lasagna in front of him, so at least there's that.

"I suppose I owe you an explanation," Enjolras says when they're done eating, looking just as tired but a little bit more composed.

Grantaire wants to say that no, he really doesn't, because even if Enjolras was on the run from the police after murdering somebody, Grantaire would still let him stay. That somebody would have had it coming anyway, he's sure. The reason doesn't matter to Grantaire, but he's still curious, so he lets Enjolras talk.

"My parents kicked me out. I guess that last rally was the last straw," he continues, referring to the event just before the end of the semester, which was more like a pride parade than just any rally, and heavily covered by local media at that. "They saw me somewhere, a couple days after the rally, not sure where, there was too much screaming," Enjolras adds with a sad smile. "They told me to get the hell out and not to bother coming back. I had a chance to grab some clothes and my laptop but that's pretty much it."

"Enjolras?" Grantaire says with a queasy feeling in his stomach.

Enjolras' eyes finally snap from his empty table to Grantaire's face. "Yes?"

"The rally was five days ago. If they kicked you out two days after, where were you for the rest of it?"

Enjolras looks down and grimaces, and yeah, that would explain his overall state. "Here and there. Twenty-four hour fast food joints, mostly, at nights."

"You slept at a McDonalds?" Grantaire asks incredulously.

"Of course not. It wasn't safe. That's why I'm here. I'm really sorry, I-- I know I'm not your favorite person or anything, but nobody's in town right now and I just really need to get some sleep. I'm starting to see double," Enjolras admits and fuck, his voice breaks and his eyes are welling up. Grantaire is so not equipped to deal with that.

"But you said one night. I can't see how that could possibly--"

"Look, I'll figure something out," Enjolras interrupts him. "I just can't even fucking think right now, but I'll have a clearer head tomorrow. You don't have to worry."

"Jesus Christ, Enjolras, that's not what I meant. How much of an asshole do you think I am?"

"I--" Enjolras starts, but doesn't say anything more, and fuck, Grantaire is making him cry again.

"Fuck, look, I'm bad at this, but what I wanted to say is - stay as long as you need. I can't even imagine what you've been through."

"It wasn't that bad."

"Really?"

Enjolras deflates. "No, it was horrible," he admits quietly.

"You should have come here right away. Or called me, or-- anything."

"Maybe. But I wanted--"

"To do it yourself? Fuck, Enjolras, you need to learn to let go sometimes."

"I'm starting to realize that, yes."

"Yes, well, baby steps," Grantaire says, and decides that's enough talking for the night. "You had some food, that's the first step. Now you need rest, and everything else can be dealt with tomorrow. Come on," Grantaire says, getting up. He deposits their plates in the sink to be washed later.

"Thanks for dinner, by the way," Enjolras says with a faint smile. "It was amazing."

"You only think that because you've been eating fast food for the past three days," Grantaire replies with a grin.

"I really don't," Enjolras says, and yeah, that's closer to a real smile. Grantaire feels accomplished.

"Come on, let's get you settled." He gestures at Enjolras to follow him out of the kitchen. "Bathroom's through here," Grantaire says, showing him the door. "Towels are in the cabinet next to the sink, and there should be a new toothbrush in one of the drawers, if you need one. You can use whatever. I'll go make your bed."

Enjolras nods.

"Right, so-- find me when you're done," Grantaire says awkwardly, and turns to leave Enjolras to it.

"R?" Enjolras' voice stops him in his tracks. He turns back to look at him, and sees that Enjolras is smiling. "Thank you."

Leaving Enjolras to shower, Grantaire takes one of the two pillows off his bed and takes some clean linen along with an extra blanket out of the closet. He makes up the sofa with crispy white sheets, and suddenly he's glad he sprung for the biggest, comfiest couch he could afford - he was saving money on all the other living room furniture he didn't need, after all. Now the couch makes for a decent bed for Enjolras, but it still doesn't look right.

Grantaire debates for a moment, and then goes to his bedroom and retrieves the red, fuzzy blanket from his bed. It's not very new, and it smells of Grantaire's cologne from lounging on it all day while he was reading, but it's soft and comforting, and if there was ever someone in need of extra comfort, it's Enjolras right now. Grantaire can part with it for a while.

Enjolras is still in the shower when Grantaire finishes with the bed, so he decides to wash the dishes now so he wouldn't have to disturb Enjolras' sleep later. Besides, it will be far more pleasant for Enjolras not to sleep in one room with a stack of dirty dishes.

He's taking off his rubber gloves when he hears steps and turns to see Enjolras standing in the doorway in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and a sheepish smile on his face.

"Forgot to take fresh clothes with me, and I really didn't want to get back into the old ones," he says.

Grantaire clears his throat to get rid of the sudden dryness in his mouth. "Well, your bed is ready, so if you don't need anything else I'll leave you to change."

Enjolras shakes his head. "I'm good. Goodnight?" he says, and it sound like a question.

"Goodnight," Grantaire replies, and squeezes past him on the way to his own bedroom, careful not to touch Enjolras' skin in passing.

This whole thing might turn out to be harder than he expected.

**

Grantaire can't sleep; it might have something to do with Enjolras' proximity, or it could be his story that Grantaire still can't wrap his head around. Grantaire hasn't really spoken to his parents since he came out right after he graduated high school, and ever since then he's lived on his own, working and doing commissions and freelance graphic design while getting his art degree. He made just enough to afford his tiny apartment and the art supplies he needed, but Grantaire never complained. So yes, he wasn't exactly a shining example of healthy family life, but at least his parents never kicked him out, for all the yelling and lectures he had to listen to.

It makes him wonder how bad it had been at Enjolras' house, and Grantaire never even knew. He probably was a dick about it at some point to Enjolras, most likely more than once, and the thought of that makes him sick to his stomach.

He feels a sudden and overwhelming urge to check on Enjolras, make sure he's okay. If he's not sleeping, Grantaire can always say he wanted some water.

The sight he encounters in the kitchen makes his chest clench painfully. There are no curtains or blinds here, so the glow from the street is illuminating the room with soft, warm light. Enjolras is sleeping, curled up in the middle of the sofa, wrapped tightly in Grantaire's red blanket, hands fisted in the edges of it. There's a trace of wetness on his cheek, and his brow is furrowed, like even in this much needed sleep he can't find any rest.

Grantaire moves before he can talk himself out of it, kneeling down next to the sofa and reaching to run his thumb softly over Enjolras' forehead. Enjolras' breathing changes at the touch, but he doesn't wake up, so Grantaire gathers up all his courage, leans in, and presses a soft, feather-light kiss right onto the crease between Enjolras' eyebrows. It doesn't disappear but it gets much less pronounced, and Enjolras uncurls a little with a soft sigh.

Grantaire goes back to his bed, feeling as lost as Enjolras looked earlier that evening.

**

Grantaire doesn't sleep much that night, and when he gets up - much earlier than he usually would even consider - Enjolras is still asleep. Grantaire thanks whatever deity is up there that his coffee maker works almost noiselessly, and sets about making a pot. Breakfast can wait till they're both up; Grantaire never has any appetite this early anyway.

He sits down at the kitchen table with a full mug and wonders if drawing Enjolras sleeping would be more or less creepy than just outright watching him there, still curled into Grantaire's blanket, golden hair a stark contrast against the fabric. In early morning light he looks even more angelic than ever, and Grantaire is torn between wanting to paint him and to never look away. He settles for neither, mostly to save the remains of his sanity, and decides to check his emails on his phone instead. All he has are vacation updates from Courfeyrac, and he chuckles quietly at the ridiculous beach selfies attached to the messages. It's only the first week of their summer, but it's not Courfeyrac's style to waste time when there's fun to be had.

Enjolras stirs, and Grantaire makes the mistake of looking at him as he wakes up. He's in no way prepared for Enjolras' bright blue eyes to look at him from underneath the mess of curls, soft and unfocused. Grantaire's breath hitches, and he hopes that even if Enjolras hears it, he'll attribute it to Grantaire being startled by his sudden movement. As if Grantaire wasn't aware of his presence every second he sat there.

"Morning," Enjolras says, smiling at him like a goddamn ray of sunshine.

"Morning yourself, Apollo. How are you feeling?"

"Much more alive than last night, thanks. But I think I need coffee."

"That can easily be arranged," Grantaire replies, and Enjolras beams at him.

"Awesome," he says. "After shower, though," he adds, and reaches for his duffel bag to retrieve a change of clothes.

Which reminds him.

"If you need to do laundry or something, my washing machine is at your disposal. Or just toss it in the hamper in the bathroom, I'll throw them in with mine."

"Great," Enjolras smiles. "And, uh-- I wanted to ask," he adds, suddenly sounding uncertain. "Last night, when you said I could stay for longer-- I didn't hallucinate that, did I?"

Grantaire is tempted to crack a joke, but somehow he feels this isn't the time. God, one evening with Enjolras and he's starting to grow up, how tragic.

"Of course you didn't. You're welcome to stay," he says instead, and Enjolras' answering smile is totally worth his restraint and then some.

Two cups of coffee seem to put some color back into Enjolras' cheeks, but they fail to return the spark to his eyes that Grantaire is so used to seeing. It's unsettling, and Grantaire hates feeling so helpless about it.

"Breakfast?" he offers, because that's all he can think of.

"I'm not really hungry," Enjolras says, smiling apologetically.

"You know, I was thinking," Grantaire says, hesitantly, then continues at Enjolras' acknowledging hum. "What about your other stuff? That bag can't be everything you own. What happens to your books and everything now?"

Enjolras makes a face that's between sadness and disgust. "They told me they'd pack it all up and to come back the next day, but I didn't want to see them. Besides, where would I put it? It's not worth it, seriously," he says in a small, defeated voice.

"So what are you going to do?"

Enjolras grimaces. "Find a job, for starters. The sooner I do that, the sooner I can stop imposing on you."

"Would you stop that?" Grantaire snaps. "What else am I supposed to say to convince you you're not imposing? I'm running out of ideas."

"Please, I'm taking up your space and disrupting your life."

"I don't need all that much space, I'm only one short, skinny guy," Grantaire argues. "And there's not much life to disrupt."

"It's Sunday," Enjolras observes. "I'm pretty sure you'll have more of a life tomorrow."

"True, but--" Grantaire says, and then sighs. "Oh, fuck it. Seriously, Enjolras, you are not a problem. I'm happy I can help. Even if your parents are too dumb to appreciate having you in their lives, it doesn't mean everyone else is, too. You're gonna be fine, I'm sure of it. If anyone can do it, it's you."

Enjolras stares at him for a moment while Grantaire just sits there, cheeks burning from his rant. Then he smiles, and it's finally a real smile, the one that lights up the room and warms up Grantaire's heart. "You said something about breakfast?" Enjolras says, and Grantaire relaxes, laughing.

After breakfast, Enjolras sits down with his laptop to begin the job hunt. He's been at it for about an hour when he closes the computer with an annoyed huff. "Fucking pointless," he tells his laptop.

"I don't think it can talk back," Grantaire says, grinning when Enjolras glares at him.

"I'm going for a run. A long one. Need to clear my head," Enjolras says.

"Wait, if you're going out, take this," Grantaire says, opening the drawer next to the fridge and fishing out a spare key to the apartment. "In case I'm not here, and, you know, for future use."

"Oh, okay, thanks," Enjolras says, and takes the key. He changes into running gear and leaves, giving Grantaire a tiny wave goodbye.

Grantaire hopes he'll be gone for at least an hour, which is just enough time to execute his plan for something he couldn't stop thinking about over breakfast. There's a small but real chance that Enjolras will hate him for it, but hell, what else is new.

**

He gets back home just before Enjolras, and is in the process of making a pot of tea - one of the fancy blends Cosette gave him for his last birthday, that he grudgingly fell in love with - when he hears Enjolras open and close the front door. He holds his breath a little, waiting for Enjolras to enter the kitchen.

"What the--" Enjolras says, predictably, when he sees the cardboard boxes occupying the better part of the kitchen floor.

"Look inside," Grantaire suggests, busying himself with straining the tea to occupy his hands and quell his nervousness. You can't afford to have shaking hands when you're handling a pot of boiling liquid.

He knows he's probably overstepped a major boundary, but that was something he had to do, mad Enjolras or no.

Enjolras opens the first box to see that it's full of books, his law textbooks on the very top.

"Okay, I know for a fact that nobody but you knows I'm here, so they couldn't have dropped it off even if they gave enough damn to do that instead of throwing an impromptu 'we have no son' bonfire. So, why?" he asks, looking at Grantaire with a puzzled expression. He doesn't look mad, at least, but he's looking at Grantaire, expecting an answer.

All Grantaire can do is close his eyes under Enjolras' intense gaze, and try to frantically figure out a reason other than 'because I love you more than anything and I want only good things to happen to you.' But if there's anything Grantaire is good at, it's concealing his true feelings from Enjolras. Call it an act of self-preservation, or, in Courfeyrac's words, a masochistic streak a mile wide, but it's necessary, and Grantaire's had years of practice.

He opens his eyes, opting for partial, safe honesty. "I have a car, and I didn't want you to lose all your stuff just because your parents are assholes. It's the least I could do."

"The least-- Jesus Christ, Grantaire," Enjolras says, his voice breaking just a tiny bit, and he's taking a few big steps forward to envelop Grantaire in a fierce hug, clinging to his shirt and burying his face in Grantaire's shoulder.

Grantaire returns the embrace gingerly, taking deep breaths to stop himself from trembling. He's pretty sure this is the first time Enjolras has ever touched him, and it's already too much.

When Enjolras lets go of him, his eyes are shiny and his cheeks are pink. "I'm making lunch," he says, voice thick but steady. Grantaire just nods, his throat too tight to speak.

**

"Where are we going to put all of this?" Enjolras asks when they're eating the grilled cheese sandwiches he's made.

"I'll make some room in the second bedroom. There should be enough space, but there's no actual furniture so you'll have to live out of the boxes for a while."

"Can I help you clean up?" Enjolras asks.

It's an innocent enough question, but Grantaire freezes. He's pretty sure there are sketches and paintings of Enjolras all over that room. Nothing inappropriate, mind you, unless you count the mere fact of being in love with your not-really-friend and drawing his perfect face all over again as being inappropriate. Your mileage may vary; Grantaire's mileage has gone off the meter a long while back.

He doesn't find a plausible reason to keep Enjolras out of that room without being weird and suspicious.

"Holy shit, that's a lot of art," Enjolras comments when they enter Grantaire's studio.

"I know, it's a mess, that's why we're cleaning," Grantaire says with a grin.

"Shut up, I'm impressed here," Enjolras replies. "These are beautiful," he adds, pointing at the few paintings Grantaire liked well enough to hang the canvas on the walls.

"You can have one, if you want," Grantaire offers, still surreptitiously scanning the room for any damning pieces. "Consider it a housewarming gift for the future Casa de Apollo."

"If that ever happens," Enjolras mutters, and Grantaire pushes away the thought that he really wouldn't mind if it didn't.

By some stroke of blind luck, they manage to move Grantaire's things around so that the room can house both his art supplies, and Enjolras' boxes, without Enjolras finding any questionable pictures of himself. Grantaire will have to find them later and hide them in his bedroom, since Enjolras will be coming in here a lot more now.

**

"You look like shit," Amie, Grantaire's coworker, says in lieu of a greeting when he shows up for his morning shift the next day. "Shall I whip up your usual hangover remedy?"

Grantaire wishes it was a hangover, but he's not going to fess up to pining for Enjolras so hard that it didn't let him sleep all weekend. He'd rather pretend he was sloshed till early Monday morning. "Charming as always," he says. "And yes, please," he says, putting on his apron. He hates that thing, but it's a small price to pay for the decent paycheck and - most importantly - the flexible schedule that he can fit around his classes.

"You should really write the recipe for this down somewhere, for the new person. Or maybe learn to do it yourself," Amie says, handing him a super-large, triple-shot caramel latte with sprinkles on top. Say what you will, the sprinkles really make you feel better.”

"Wait, what? What new person?" he asks, frowning.

"The one who's going to replace me next week. They haven't hired anyone yet, but it's coming. Try not to miss me too much," she says cheerfully as she starts preparing the shop for opening.

Grantaire blinks and joins her, putting down chairs while his mind is still racing. "No way, you got the job?" he asks.

Amie beams at him. "I got the fucking job!" she exclaims, practically jumping up and down with excitement. The job is actually an internship in one of the biggest national newspapers, but it's been Amie's dream to do something like this with her journalism degree. Grantaire likes working with her, and who knows what they'll replace her with, but he can't help feeling happy for her.

He grins at her and gives her a big hug. "Congrats, that's awesome!"

"Thank you, G," she laughs.

"Don't call me that!" he says as they get back to work.

"Oh, unclench, you're the one who started calling yourself by a single letter."

"Not THAT letter."

"G, R, what's the difference?"

"About ten letters in the alphabet," Grantaire grumbles, and Amie laughs.

"I won't miss your questionable humor most of all."

**

The apartment is silent when he gets home that afternoon; at first he thinks Enjolras might be out, but when he enters the kitchen he sees him sitting cross-legged on his makeshift bed, face hidden in his hands, curls falling all over his fingers.

"Enjolras?" Grantaire says, softly, not sure if Enjolras heard him come in and not wanting to startle him.

A groan is the only acknowledgment of his presence, but it's enough.

Leaving work, Grantaire packed two of his favorite cupcakes to take home, on impulse. He reaches into the paper bag now and takes one out, then approaches the bed and sits down next to Enjolras. He touches one of Enjolras' hands gently, plucking it away from his face, then turns it over and places the cupcake in the center of the palm.

Enjolras lets out a little laugh. His eyes are red-rimmed, and his mouth has an unhappy slant to it that Grantaire doesn't like at all.

"Are you okay?" Grantaire asks, when he's moderately sure he's not going to be cussed out of his own kitchen.

"Nothing a good cupcake won't fix," Enjolras replies, but his flat tone belies the words.

They sit in silence as Enjolras eats the cupcake, sniffling slightly from time to time. Grantaire doesn't move, doesn't even look at him, giving Enjolras the chance to say whatever he wants to tell him, or nothing at all.

"My parents called this morning," Enjolras says eventually, licking the remains of chocolate off his fingers and balling up the paper liner. "They said they were willing to _allow_ me back if I promised to respect their values and start being a responsible member of their family."

"I feel like I don't need to ask this question, but what did you say to that incredibly generous offer?" Grantaire asks dryly.

Enjolras huffs. "I might have told them to go to hell where they belong. In those exact words."

Grantaire flops back onto the bed, laughing. Enjolras turns to look at him with raised eyebrows.

"You're not mad? That I could have been out of your hair already but--"

"Enjolras," Grantaire interrupts him, raising his head. "I've never been more fucking proud of you," he says emphatically. That isn't exactly true, but Enjolras doesn't have to know just how much Grantaire admires him.

Enjolras lies down right next to him, his arm brushing against Grantaire's and his hair tickling the side of Grantaire's face. They lie in silence for a few moments, hands almost touching, and Grantaire can feel every bit of heat radiating off Enjolras' body.

"Have you told anyone else? About everything." Grantaire asks after a while.

Enjolras snorts. "No. What's the point?"

"They're your friends? That's kinda all the point one needs in a situation like this."

"I don't want to disturb their vacations."

"Mmm. And the real reason?"

"Has anybody told you you're annoying?"'

"So frequently that it's lost all meaning. Well?"

Enjolras sighs and rolls over onto his stomach, looking down at Grantaire now. "I don't want them to know just yet how much of a failure as an adult human being I am."

Grantaire wants to snap at him again, because hell - everyone including him would gladly be a failure if Enjolras was the definition of it, but he doesn't want to argue again. "How so?" he asks instead. "Don't tell me it's about what your parents said, because of all the bullshit opinions you could have latched onto--"

"No, no," Enjolras says. "Just-- I must have applied to like a hundred places, and I didn't get a single response. I can't even find a job," Enjolras whines, because there's no other word for that, then flops forward so his face is hidden in Grantaire's red blanket covering the bed.

Grantaire starts giggling, which causes Enjolras to raise his head and shoot him a wounded look. "You've never looked for a job before, have you?" Grantaire asks, still laughing.

"No, I only did volunteer work. And they don't usually reject you from those," Enjolras says.

"Figured as much. Enjolras, it's been one day. Sometimes you have to wait _weeks_ for a reply."

"I can't wait weeks! I need money."

"Did your parents leave you anything?"

"They froze my main account, so I was left with whatever I had in my wallet and the side account they didn't know of, but that's not much. I can probably buy groceries a few times but that's not enough for _weeks._ "

"Tell you what," Grantaire says, amused. "I'll help you out for now, and then when you find a job and a place, you invite me over for dinner a few times, and we'll be even. How does that sound?"

"Like you're trying to humor me, but I appreciate it all the same," Enjolras says, a hint of smile on his lips. "Thank you."

Just then, Grantaire has a thought. "What kind of work are you looking for, anyway?"

"Anything that pays money, at this point."

"How are your espresso making skills?"

"Forget it, I applied to all fucking Starbucks shops in the area and nothing."

"Yes, but you didn't apply to a certain non-chain coffee shop where someone who's about to make you very happy has insider information about a vacant barista position. I'll ask them, if you're interested."

Enjolras is looking at him with big, hopeful eyes. "I could seriously kiss you right now," he says.

Grantaire laughs as his insides give a sharp twist. "I'll make the call, then," he says, and jumps off the bed to go find his phone.

**

Grantaire's boss is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and hires Enjolras in Amie's place starting next Monday.

"The guy has no experience, R, so I'm trusting you here. He's taking Amie's shifts, so you two will be working together unless something happens, and he'll be your responsibility. Make sure he doesn't blow up the place," he says the next day after Grantaire's phone call.

"Absolutely, sir. There won't be any problems, I'm sure. He's a fast learner and he really needs that job," Grantaire replies.

The boss just nods, clasps him on the shoulder, and leaves with a large cappuccino to go in his hands.

The few days between Enjolras signing the contract and actually starting work mark a significant change in his overall mood. Grantaire comes home every day to freshly cooked lunch or dinner, depending on the shift (he always brings the dessert), and a smiling Enjolras. If Grantaire is home for lunch, he usually goes to his studio later to paint, and Enjolras reads either one of his own books, or something he borrows from Grantaire. They always spend the evenings together, sprawled on Enjolras' bed that they don't bother to make up like a couch again, watching movies. Enjolras got all of his DVDs back with his things, so they alternate in choosing the movie of the day, and whoever doesn't choose is entitled to a moderate amount of bitching and snarky comments - a rule Grantaire is more than happy to take advantage of.

Grantaire enters the kitchen on Sunday before Enjolras' first day of work to find Enjolras already on his feet and dressed, singing softly while he flips pancakes, a full pot of coffee already sitting in the coffee maker.

"You know, I never thought I'd say this, but domesticity suits you. In fact, I'm kind of shocked you haven't gone batshit from the idleness yet."

"The novelty hasn't worn off yet," Enjolras says, grinning at him. "And now I actually have a future that’s not all doom and gloom, so I can enjoy my time off."

"It's a good look on you," Grantaire says, trailing his hand over Enjolras' lower back in passing as he makes his way to the coffee pot. He doesn't fully realise what he's doing until he hears Enjolras let out a small strangled noise. Fuck. He should not be allowed among people before his first coffee.

"Want some pancakes?" Enjolras asks, a hint of pink high in his cheekbones, and Grantaire nods, accepting the excuse to never bring that moment up again. Jesus, he needs to be more careful. For once in his life he's getting along with Enjolras, and the last thing he wants is to fuck it up with his dumb feelings.

**

Grantaire can't decide if Enjolras' first day at work is more hilarious or excruciating. A bit of both, he thinks.

It starts when Enjolras fucks something up with his first client - he had strong words with the cappuccino machine a while before that, and apparently it decided to exact revenge later on. Anyway, Enjolras is standing there in that ridiculous apron, red in the face from steam and frustration, sweaty hair tied back in a loose ponytail with a piece of ribbon. Grantaire just knows he's stopping himself from cursing as he apologizes profusely to the young woman waiting for her drink.

"It's okay, I'm not in a hurry," she says, smiling sweetly at him. She's very pretty, with shiny black hair and warm brown eyes.

"Still, it's not exactly stellar customer service, but it's my first day, I'm sorry. Please come back, I promise I'll get better," Enjolras says, and the machine finally decides to cooperate. "There you go, should be fine now. Sorry about the wait."

She grins at him over her cup. "Maybe you could make it up to me over dinner sometime? Here," she says, fishing out a pen from her purse and writing a string of numbers on her receipt, which she then hands to Enjolras. "See you!" She says with one last smile, and leaves.

Enjolras is standing there dumbfounded, mouth open in confusion, the receipt still in his hand.

"What just happened?" he asks, looking at Grantaire as if the world has just personally offended him.

"I believe you just got hit on, my friend," Grantaire replies with a grin.

"That's very unprofessional," Enjolras comments. "And she's not my type anyway."

Grantaire grins even wider, but he turns away so Enjolras wouldn't see.

It doesn't stop there, though. They aren't even halfway through their shift and Enjolras has collected phone numbers on three receipts as well as four scraps of paper, and received countless enamored looks from various customers. It makes Grantaire grind his teeth because _what if one of these people is Enjolras' type,_ but he still can't help laughing at Enjolras' huffy reactions after every one of the number-givers leaves the shop.

"Seriously, though, how do you deal with that?" Enjolras asks, chucking all the numbers into the bin, much to Grantaire's relief.

"What do you mean?" Grantaire asks.

"The numbers! Doesn't it annoy you when people just throw their phone numbers at you and just hit on you when you work?"

"Have you _seen_ me receiving even one number today?"

"Well, no, but you've been handling the baked goods today, and I've been manning the till. I just assumed--"

"Enjolras, it's not the coffee pouring they're attracted to. Well, not exclusively. It's you. When you look like you do, people are going to hit on you so fast your head is gonna spin. Frankly, I'm amazed you're not used to it by now."

"Are you?"

"To people hitting on you? Hardly, though I think I'll have to be soon."

"And it doesn't happen to you?" Enjolras asks, looking genuinely puzzled.

"Not with any regularity, no. I do get an occasional wink or something but never _that._ "

"Why not?"

"Not all of us can be genetic lottery winners, you know."

"But you look great! I always thought--" Enjolras says, fervently, then stops, blushing and looking at the floor.

"Yes...?" Grantaire prompts, because he really needs to hear the end of that sentence.

"I always thought you had really nice eyes," Enjolras finishes, still looking down. "And smile, whenever you choose to use the genuine one. Lately more than ever, I like that. And you're well--"

"Yeah?" Grantaire says, breathless.

"You're attractive, that's all. You should be getting numbers. People are dumb," Enjolras concludes.

Grantaire excuses himself to the restroom and has to sit down for at least five minutes to make his peace with that entire conversation.

**

Against reason and better judgment, Grantaire gets used to living with Enjolras. It's peaceful, it's easy, and it seems like they both work to restrain themselves from antagonizing each other when there's nowhere to escape to - Grantaire can't storm out of the Musain and go home to avoid Enjolras till next meeting, so it doesn't really seem like it's worth it. In fact, when they're not really trying to argue, their personalities seem to mesh instead of clash.

They both like their silence to work, except when Grantaire needs music for inspiration, but Enjolras is fantastically lenient when it comes to that. He also doesn't mind Grantaire's occasional messiness when he's too preoccupied with work to spare neatness a thought - Enjolras claims that cleaning soothes him and helps him unfuck his head. They share the cooking duty because they both like it, and it works. Their life works.

Grantaire almost forgets that Enjolras must still be looking for something better than a couch in Grantaire's kitchen and a stack of boxes in his studio.

"I need to talk to you about something," Enjolras says after dinner, about a week after he's started working.

Grantaire can feel his insides turn into ice, but he's careful not to show anything on his face. By the slight frown on Enjolras' face he can tell he's failed at that. "Sure, what's up?" he replies, hating the way his voice sounds strained.

"Over tea? Will be nicer," Enjolras suggests. "Oh, by the way, do you think I could hang up some of my work shirts in your closet? It's a bitch to have to iron them every day," he asks.

"Yeah, no problem. You go do that, I'll clean up the dishes and make the tea," Grantaire says, a little bit relieved. If Enjolras is asking for closet space, at least that means he's not moving out right away.

When Grantaire is done with the dishes and the tea, there's no sign of Enjolras coming back to the kitchen. Grantaire lights up a tealight and places it under the teapot to keep it warm, and then goes to investigate.

 _Oh fuck_ is his first thought when he enters his bedroom, and it's strong enough that he voices it out loud. Worrying about his talk with Enjolras, he forgot all the incriminating drawings he removed from the studio when Enjolras started using it and then hid in his closet. He can't even blame Enjolras for finding them, it's not like he had to dig deep. Grantaire is such an idiot.

Enjolras is sitting on his bed, surrounded by at least ten drawings and paintings of his face, looking at them with an inscrutable expression on his face. He looks up when he hears Grantaire enter, and Grantaire can't even tell if he's mad or not. Their little limbo really was too good to be true, he guesses, and now it's over.

"R?" Enjolras says after a while, when it becomes clear that Grantaire is just going to stand there with what is undoubtedly a really dumb look on his face. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

Maybe it's okay. Maybe he can still talk his way out of it without revealing too much. "You're a good subject. I already told you, you're unfairly good looking. No artist would be able to resist."

Enjolras blushes, but he's still not smiling. "Perhaps," he says, voice careful. "But this particular artist decided to hide these from me. Why?"

Grantaire sighs. It doesn't look like he's about to get punched, so he risks taking a few steps and sits down next to Enjolras. "I, uh-- I didn't want you to think I was creepy. Because that's really-- that's not what these are about. I'm really, really sorry, I should have asked you for permission but then I thought you'd never give it to me and wow, that just sounds like the worst excuse ever and I'm very, very sorry. I'll destroy them if you want," Grantaire says, trying and failing to keep his voice from shaking.

"Don't," Enjolras says, picking them all back up into a neat stack. "I like them. You're incredibly talented, Grantaire."

Grantaire exhales. "Thanks? And I promise I won't ever use your face without permission again."

"You can, if you want," Enjolras offers. "Apparently I have a good face for art, yes?" he adds with a small smile. "That's all this is about, right?"

"Right," Grantaire confirms. It might be his wishful thinking, but Grantaire could swear he sees a flicker of something akin to disappointment shoot through Enjolras’ face.

"That thing I wanted to talk to you about," Enjolras says. "Before, in the kitchen."

"I made tea!" Grantaire says, grateful for the change of subject, even if he was dreading this talk before. "We can go and talk about it now."

Enjolras waits till they're both seated on opposite sides of the kitchen table before he speaks again. "So you know I've been apartment hunting ever since I got a job," he begins.

Grantaire nods in acknowledgment, but doesn't find it in himself to say anything.

"There's this apartment, a really nice one, close to the campus and everything. Available from next month. Nice and roomy and it has two bedrooms. Pretty big ones. The only problem is, it's too expensive for me alone. But if you wanted--"

Grantaire blinks at him. "What are you trying to say?"

"We could afford it together. We'd have an actual living room, and your bedroom would be big enough for all your art stuff, or you could keep some of it in the common area, I wouldn't mind. I just thought-- this has been good, right? You haven't just been putting up with me?"

"No, I--" Grantaire says, weighing his words carefully. Living with Enjolras? Some part of him is ecstatic at the mere idea of it, of seeing Enjolras every day for the foreseeable future. But it's a really, really bad idea. Not that he always tends to avoid bad ideas, just-- if he lives with Enjolras, there's no way he could avoid heartbreak, and he doesn't think he could take that. He has to decline, and watch Enjolras be disappointed in him again. "I'm sorry, I really liked having you here, but I can't-- I can't live with you, I'm sorry," he repeats.

Enjolras doesn't look particularly disappointed, just thoughtful. "And why not?" he asks. "It would give you plenty of opportunity to draw my face. You know, for the sake of art."

"I--"Grantaire's eyes snap to Enjolras', and he thinks he sees a spark of amusement in them. "...Oh, you crafty bastard," Grantaire says, genuinely impressed. He allowed himself to be fooled back in the bedroom, but now he only has two choices: move in with Enjolras and be tortured by his feelings every day, or fess up to everything he clumsily tried to conceal before.

Enjolras just raises his eyebrows, a hint of smirk on his lips.

Grantaire huffs. This really is a point of no return, so he doesn't have anything to lose. "Fine! I can't live with you because I have feelings for you. I painted you because I love your stupid face and everything it stands for," Grantaire says, and wow, that's an interesting mix of relief and nausea he's feeling. "And I think you knew that, at least since you saw the pictures. So my question is - why did you bring up the apartment anyway? Are you really okay with living with someone who's harboring a soul-crushing, heart-wrenching love for you?"

"That's descriptive," Enjolras observes. "And yeah, I knew."

"I'm sorry," Grantaire says, glaring at his mug.

"For what?" Enjolras asks, his voice light.

Grantaire lets out a nervous laughter, but doesn't look up. "Honestly? I'm not even sure at this point. Seems like the thing to say right now."

Grantaire hears the scraping of the chair, and a moment later Enjolras is standing right next to him, gently tipping his face up with one hand. Grantaire manages to draw in a shaky breath before Enjolras leans over and presses his lips to Grantaire's, a soft, dry touch, like he's asking for permission.

When he pulls away, Grantaire still can't read his face, and it frustrates the hell out of him. "What was that? A pity kiss?" he asks. He wants to sound snappy, but it comes out more choked up than anything.

"No," Enjolras says, smiling finally. "It was a 'you've been driving me crazy for a while so I really had to do this' kiss."

Grantaire swallows past the lump in his throat. "That's descriptive," he says, and Enjolras cracks up with laughter, grabbing Grantaire's hand and pulling him to his feet and into another kiss, much less hesitant than the first one, one arm curled around Grantaire's waist and a hand sliding into his hair. Grantaire flails, but after a moment grabs at Enjolras’ shirt, pulling him even closer and kissing back with all he's got.

"Okay," Enjolras says, leaning his forehead against Grantaire's when they're both breathless after the kiss. "That was--"

"Yeah," Grantaire says, and can't help the wide grin on his face. "I still can't believe-- you like me?"

Enjolras presses another kiss to his lips in reply. "I really do."

Grantaire shuts his eyes; he doesn't think he can look at Enjolras' face right now without exploding with feelings, so instead he winds both his arms around Enjolras' waist, squeezing tightly, and tucks his face into the crook of Enjolras' neck. There's just enough height difference between them to make that the most comfortable position in the world. Enjolras clings right back, pressing soft kisses against Grantaire's temple and carding his fingers through Grantaire's curls.

"So now what?" Grantaire asks after a longer while, turning his head a little so he can speak.

"I still want to live with you," Enjolras says. "But it's okay if that's too much for you right now. I'll wait."

"No need," Grantaire says, pulling back to smile at Enjolras' beautiful face.

**

"Can I ask you something?" Grantaire says when they're both lying in Enjolras' bed that night. They didn't make it out of the kitchen, so it's a good thing that the couch really is huge. Grantaire's definitely taking it with him to their new place.

"Hmm?" Enjolras hums, nuzzling at Grantaire's bare shoulder.

"When did you start liking me?"

"I've always liked you."

"Romantically," Grantaire specifies.

Enjolras opens his eyes. "You're going to laugh at me."

"Apollo, you wound me. I could never," Grantaire says, grinning. "Come on, spill," he says, nudging Enjolras with his leg.

"Fine, but you're answering the same question."

Grantaire laughs. "That's easy, about five minutes after I met you."

"Wait, really?"

"How oblivious can you get?"

"Very, apparently."

"So? We had a deal. Dish."

Enjolras groans. "Fine. I don't know when I started, mind you, I just know when I realized. This," he says, grabbing the red blanket Grantaire gave him on his first night here. "You left this on my bed, and at first I just thought it was a nice, cozy thing I could use to keep me warm, but then it just-- it smelled of you, and I was pretty upset at the time so it took me a while to catch on, but eventually I realized it wasn't the blanket that was so comforting, it was you. So, there, an epiphany by blanket. Must be the first one."

Grantaire laughs, turning over onto his stomach so he can look down at Enjolras. "You," he says, "are completely ridiculous. And I love you." Grantaire leans down to give him a kiss right on the nose.

"Now who's ridiculous," Enjolras replies, but he's grinning widely. "And I love you, too," he says, with a soft look in his blue eyes.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me [on tumblr](http://tictactoews.tumblr.com/)


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